


My letters to you

by christinchen



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinchen/pseuds/christinchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes I think about writing you.</p>
<p>Letters like soldiers wrote home from war fronts, not the lovely 'weather's nice, might be home soon' kind, not the tragic 'i miss you so much it pains me' kind. No, I mean the filthy 'I haven't had a good shag in weeks and god i wish you were in between my thighs right now' kind of letters</p>
            </blockquote>





	My letters to you

**Author's Note:**

> I imagined this to be set after COE with Jack finding and reading Ianto's letters/diary. But then I never got around to writing it and when i did finish this I wasn't in the mood for devastatingly depressing, so just imagine Jack finding them reading them and then teasing the hell out of Ianto for being sappy or something...

Sometimes I think about writing you.

Letters like soldiers wrote home from war fronts, not the lovely 'weather's nice, might be home soon' kind, not the tragic 'i miss you so much it pains me' kind. No, I mean the filthy 'I haven't had a good shag in weeks and god i wish you were in between my thighs right now' kind of letters.

And knowing you, you'd enjoy them. Maybe mock me, a little, but definitely ask to act them out later when the room is dark and I've run out of excuses in my head to delay your touch further.

They'd contain made up scenarios that will never happen, office romances and wild shags in cabs, strangers meeting in odd places or maybe I’d give up all pretense and just send you pure filth.

Provide you with mental images of hot bodies coming together, the way you can for me with a single glance, even across a crowded room and at the most ill timed moments. 

At times I think you made it into a sport, a form of entertainment to keep me in a constant state of arousal and frustration.

And oh, how I wish I could repay you.   
But words when spoken were never my strength when I can't hide behind quips and sarcasm. 

Of all the stories about my life and myself that I ever told you, of all the lies and half truths, the fact that I like to write I never mentioned. Now I don't even know why anymore, maybe because I was embarrassed, maybe because I know you'd wanna see what I write and I was scared you'd laugh.

It's not all sappy love poems, though I've written my fair share of them as well and even a few about you over the years. Not that I'd ever let you read those, or maybe I will, one day when I'm long gone and you've moved on, maybe one day when you are in need of a reminder that there was once a person in your life that loved you, a person that knew you and still loved you.

And I hope that you know that I do, that I eventually will find the courage to tell you. And not just in those rare moments when you actually fall asleep beside me, complete fucked out. This I have turned into a sport, well really just a competition with myself. Just to see how many nights in a row I can wear you out. 

Of all the things that you taught me and opened my eyes to, that one I'm quite proud to have taught you. And to remember how hesitant you were at first. I remember the first time I asked you to keep going, me already half asleep underneath your body, but oh your cock still so hot and hard inside me. 

But you learned, and never let it be said that you didn't learn quickly. And god, I don't even know if I ever told you just how much I enjoy it, waking up in the middle of the night, my body sore from quite enjoyable activities that I couldn't remember but through a sleepy haze. Sometimes you'd still be inside me, your body curled around mine, your skin hot against me and your even breaths in my neck.

You sleep those nights and those nights only. And I think that that is a fact I enjoy the most. I like pleasing you, like you don't already know that. But it's not just bringing you coffee and sucking you off under your office desk as you work. 

It's everything. I like giving you things other won't, can't give you. I like being the first person you think of when you need something, I like being the only person you can think of asking. Whether it's sex or just someone to listen to you talk.

I want to be that person to you, I know that I might never be, as good as I am in listening to you talk I'll never be the one to be capable of giving compassionate advice or mending your heart broken by the cruelty of humanity.

But the one thing I want is to have meaning, to have meant something to you.


End file.
